Advent Averne
by AmadErik
Summary: The Opera Ghost's first normal, or at least, close to normal Christmas season. Leroux- based.
1. Chandelle Premiére: Paix

Chandelle Premiére: Paix

Sunday, 28th November, 1880

Again, it begins. As in every year, it begins, it does now as well. Advent season and Christmas made Erik so bitter and sarcastic that, if someone was there with him, they could have easily agreed that Erik becomes the old monster he keeps calling himself the whole year, at this time even more so than anytime else. How he loathed this time of the year! It held nothing but sorrow and self- pity for him, isolated in his lake house since the Opera was finally finished. This season, and Christmas itself just made him remember how lonely he was. He did not have anyone to wish a Merry Christmas or to give gifts to, or just simply be with.

Christmas never meant anything to him, as it did to others. His mother celebrated it back in his childhood, but it was merely an act of tradition and religious play, not because they liked each other so much. His gift was something he needed anyway, mostly some kind of piece of clothing, but he would have appreciated a mother's kiss way more, yet he wasn't allowed to even dream of such a blasphemy. He also had unpleasant memories about childhood Christmases- his mother would be even more depressed these days than she was otherwise. She was crying for her happy past and the sad, sad present she had with this monster-devil- living dead in her house. This corpse of a child, who took away everyone from her… She would often drink and get drunk, throwing things at him, or just yelling… or oh God… crying. He was so sad to see his mother cry. It hurt him even more than the slaps or beatings he got, because he mostly deserved them. But those tears were burning his very soul, and he knew well, from a very young age that those tears were because of him and his face.

Thankfully they don't celebrate Christmas in Persia or Turkey. These countries made him forget about that sickening holiday for the years he had spent in the East.

But as he returned back to Europe, the nightmare started over and over, from every end of November to every end of damned December. He always repaid other people for the sorrow they caused him with bitterness and sarcasm. Now that he was the Opera Ghost, he could easily do it. He criticized everything, regardless if it was a good or a bad performance he saw. He wrote letters to the management to tell his not so kind, but at least very honest opinion about Carlotta, the choir, the dancers, the orchestra, and the program. The Opera was also decorated for Christmas. Ridiculous ugly tasteless Christmas ornaments and that damned tree was set up in every year. He would look at those things as they were some rats that would spread bubonic plague. He either pushed, threw or kicked down the ones he could reach, and this act, to be honest, made him happier. He would even produce that gravely – ghostly maniacal laughter of his, while doing so, scaring the little ballerinas. They ran away screaming from a fallen and broken ornament, telling everyone "The Phantom! The Phantom!" Erik always grinned to this, chuckling like a naughty child. That was the only thing he actually liked about Christmas.

Despite being a musician, he disliked Christmas carols a lot. Especially those ones about the merciful God. He often remarked sarcastically to himself that the merciful God does not exist at all, only that one who gives punishment, otherwise he either gave him some love and peace in his life, or let him die, but as neither of these did already happen, he can't agree with God being loving and merciful to humans, or at least, not to him. And to top that mess and rubbish about the lyrics, these songs had so easy and banal melodies that he could not even like them for the music. Carolers gave pain to his ears. They made him sick in the stomach. They gave him headaches. He always put his fingers in his ears while passing them.

He was grumpy, always complaining about something, and as in a very rare moment of sincerity he admitted it to the Daroga, he did not even like to be in the same room with himself and would like to put himself out to the bank of the lake so he will be able to be grumpy in peace, without going on his own nerves. Erik was sure he had gone totally crazy as he, despite of how hard he tried to avoid it throughout the year, in these winter months did cuss like a sailor for no apparent reasons, or just because of a simple "malheur" he would not have any other reaction than a sigh about. He did use many foul words, calling the whole holy family by various names, in every language he knew, then ran to his luxurious bathroom to wash his own mouth out with soap, as he couldn't bear the presence of that crazy man with a mouth like a drunken coachman. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, hideous monster?" – He would yell at himself, then break out in a desperate and painful sob on the bathroom floor, that slowly turned to a maniacal laughter, and finally into a nasty fit of cough, due to overstraining his voice.

On the streets of Paris, if he had to go out for shopping sometimes, he saw people bursting with happiness and love for each other, or to be honest, so they played a well – directed play of humanity, wishing each other Happy Holidays step by step. He was so extraordinary in the middle of the happy crowd with his pale and mournful expression and skeletal form, in all black clothes, and his black hat pulled in his eyes, with a nearly transparent fake nose and mustache, that people couldn't help, but either laugh at, or whisper about him. His strange, pale face and sunken eyes reminded people of Grim Reaper, and they would remark it, of course. This fact, and the mere thought of having to walk on the streets made Erik even more upset, causing him to make a face he could kill with, and that made people laugh even more. Especially he hated those "damned and ill- mannered kids who are just sent out by their parents to commit mischief all day long", as children loved to throw snowballs or even bits of ice at him, calling him a bag of bones, Grim Reaper, bier Fugitive or ugly old corpse. They would chant various satires about him when they noticed him on the streets, to that Erik often promised to beat them up if he catches them. These encounters ended by a bunch of screaming and laughing children running on the snowy streets of Paris with an enraged Opera Ghost in their heels, who either could not or did not want to keep up their pace, and after a time, he would stop, wheezing in the middle of the road. He would go minding his business after, promising half- loud that he will once catch them all and teach them to their morals.

This year, however, was different. At first, only a little bit different, not much. After he met Mlle Daaé, he found himself smiling more and more often. He thought it was just because the lessons that they went well, and he was a successful tutor… but after some thinking he had to realize that it was Christine herself that made him smile. That young woman was such a pleasant companion, she was mostly cheerful, polite and intelligent. She was way more educated than other girls in the choir or in the whole Opera. They were able to chat about music, operas, books, history and even a bit of science. Erik never met a woman who understood anything about science, other than Mlle Daaé. No one else had been so kind to him in his whole life before. Christine accepted him to be an angel, and since that she spoke to him as he was a very dear friend. She would tell him everything she was happy or sad about, often apologizing, as so earthly matters sure did not interest him, but Erik always thanked her for that in his mind – a human being finally found him worthy of talking to. Christine thought him as an angel, but to be honest, she was the real angel, herself. Such an angel she was, she really deserved to be happy… and receive a gift for this Christmas from her angel of music!

This was the first time he actually had pleasant thoughts regarding Christmas- as she thought of the smiling young woman who, without doubt, loved this time of the year. He witnessed her comforting little Jammes and another ballet girl after he scared them away by kicking off another ornament. She told them there was no Opera Ghost, and that ornament sure just fell because it wasn't put there properly, and after she led them to a sofa in the hall and told them the story of the Nutcracker. He was so enchanted by the beautiful young girl, telling a story to the minors that he couldn't help but imagine what a great mother she would be. Thinking back at this scene still made his eyes blur with tears, but they were not tears of sadness, hopelessness or rage- they were tears of joy. That was something he never experienced before.

Maybe the time for happiness is finally coming to him? What if this beautiful girl, this angel is finally a sign of luck and hope for him? Could she love him for himself? She seems to love his personality, and sure, she adores his beautiful voice. He knew well that she can only love him if he finally makes peace.

Peace – with himself, with the world, and at first – with Christmas. That is the only way he can give her a merry and blessed Christmas as she deserves- if he finally makes peace with Christmas. And the best way to do it is to finally celebrate it- just as everyone else.

He slowly fought back his disgust and went to his storage room and climbed up on the ladder to reach the highest shelf there. On the very top and back of the shelf, nearly tossed to the wall, he found the cardboard box he took from his mother's house, covered in years of dust. He blew most of it off of the box, and he had to sneeze instantly as it flew right into the hole where his nose should have been. The box was labelled with his childish handwriting as "nasty Xmas rubbish". With the protest of every ounce of his being, he carried it outside to the drawing room, and placed it on the table. He frowned with his twisted lips, then leaned closer to the box, opening it with the suspicion if he would try to catch a scorpion.

As the lid opened he saw those stomach turning things in it, but he did not pay much attention to the boas or glass globes yet. He was searching for the first thing needed for the spiritual attunement- the advent wreath. He finally found it, it even contained the colored candles, but they were in rather bad shape- they were half melted and dusty. He was even more disgusted now than before. Even if he cleans them, they are still melted. He sighed and thought to himself "They aren't perfect – just as I am not either. " He put the wreath on the table, with those candles and he lit the first one and was staring at the candlelight for a long time- let's try to focus on that damned Christmas… for Christine… for _us_!


	2. Chandelle Deuxiéme: Foi

Chandelle Deuxiéme: Foi

Spiritual attunement wasn't that easy for Christine Daaé either as it used to be before, when her father was still alive. One could think, as she was yet so young and mostly very meek and cheerful, that she adored this time of the year. But she merely took up the mask of happiness to hide her real feelings. These Christmases weren't the same without Papa Daaé, as she missed him very much and her grief did not want to disappear. Many people tried to comfort her that time will solve everything, but it did not seem to. She found it harder to be happy and hopeful in this season, when she was a child and Papa would tell her stories and she could feel his love, everything was so easy. Whether they spent Christmas Eve somewhere travelling or at Mama Valerius's home, she knew that love will make them content and happy, it can turn windstorms to a light summer breeze and a supper containing only a single slice of dry bread taste like cake.

But now, only Mama Valerius was there with her in that small apartment and she was ill as well. Christine was afraid many times that she was going to arrive home one day to find her lifeless body in the bed. She was terrified of the mere thought of losing this only loved one she still had with her.

Only music, praying, and remembering her beloved Papa were the only thoughts she had at that time- and even music wasn't her forte. She wasn't that extremely talented as her father would always tell her. Many people were way better than her, both in technique, both in vocal sounding, and her attitude was so shy and quiet as well that she always remained in the background, unnoticed. She started to accept her fate of being a mediocre little singer and the fact that she isn't any good, never was, and never will be.

Until that beautiful day finally arrived.

It wasn't even a beautiful day, to begin with. It was mid-October and heavy rain was falling from the skies, endlessly, for hours. It was early morning, and Christine should not have been at the Opera in such an early hour, but she wasn't able to stay home after she got so scared of Mama Valerious's another nasty coughing fit. She was always in panic when someone had a coughing fit, as Papa Daaé coughed a lot in his last months and it always reminded Christine that it was a warning sign of she was going to lose him. She was ashamed of her behavior, but to be honest, she simply fled from home to the Opera. She was wandering through the corridors and was just aimlessly walking up and down on the stairs, then went to her dressing room to relax a bit and took some deep breaths to calm down when…

She heard that voice.

It was enchanting, beautiful, hypnotic and pure just as an angel's. It sang an unknown song on an unknown language, which fact just made things more exotic and otherworldly. It sounded to come from somewhat far, but it was getting closer and closer, just as it was walking towards her dressing room on the corridor. She ran to the door and opened it, peeked outside, but could see nothing. She shrugged and tried to convince herself she heard nothing, but the song still could be heard. She was afraid for a moment that she was going crazy and to make sure it wasn't the case, she nervously called out:

\- Who is that?

The music ceased right away, the voice disappeared. She couldn't be sure but maybe she heard a tiny gasp.

\- Who is there? – She repeated half curiously, and half nervously.

No answer. She looked outside again, but found nothing there.

\- It is such a pity you left. – Christine admitted sadly. – What a beautiful voice you have. You sing like an angel.

There was a long pause. The stranger, hidden in one of his hiding places, was confused. He was nearly caught… but… he just heard someone complimenting his voice. It happened so rarely that he heard positive things being said about him. He did not really know what to do. He was confused. Should he run away like a scared rat and make sure never to sing again while walking…. As he could be heard… or… or should he take the risk of talking?

He just stood there for some minutes, silently, not even daring to breathe normally as he was scared they might hear him. His heart was beating audibly in his ears and he was worried it is so loud that the girl might notice it.

Finally, he was strong enough to overcome decades of fear in exchange of some nice words. He was surprised as well, that it could happen, but he slowly opened his mouth, nearly against his will, and these words left his skull – like lips:

\- It is just me… - he was thinking if he should finish the sentence with his usual nickname "The Phantom of the Opera", but he later chose rather not to.

\- You have a beautiful voice. – She said again. – Even while speaking, you sound like an angel.

\- Merci. – He stuttered, blushing bright red under his mask.

\- My name is Christine Daaé. – She continued, being curious of who this man might be.

\- I'm pleased to meet you. – He replied out of routine, but did not tell his name in return. He was, indeed pleased to meet the girl, she was so kind to him. He did not stay any longer though – he left as Christine could not hear him anymore that day.

Then things just escalated so quickly. He heard her sing, and he did not like it at all. And then came the music lessons they had been taking for nearly two months already. He did not dare to admit to himself either, but he needed her companion, as she was the closest he could have called a friend. And when she asked him if he was the angel her father sent her… what he should have been said, anyway? "No, Christine, I am not an angel, I am a horribly disfigured serial killer living in the basement, sleeping in a coffin, and stalking you through your dressing room mirror for a month." Well, he thought it didn't sound too well… so he should not even try to explain. He just decided to say simply yes, for the sake of their relationship could continue.

Christine's faith returned. As her singing skills developed, she regained her faith in herself. She believed in her father still watches over her, and she believed, wholeheartedly in the Angel of Music who keeps making her sing better and better day by day. Her heart filled up with hope and faith, and as Christmas was near, it just got stronger. She turned her heart and soul to the Bible again, she was reading it, especially the story of Jesus's birth. She prayed every evening before and after performances, and asked in the prayer that God shall take good care of the Angel of Music. Erik once overheard this prayer and started crying as he got so touched.

What God meant to Erik…? What faith meant to him…? Nothing, really. Nothing until Christine Daaé actually prayed for him. Someone cared for him enough to mention him in a prayer was a new and unexpected push for Erik's soul to turn back towards his long- forgotten and abandoned God. He at first just prayed for Christine's health and success, just as she was praying for him. After, he developed a habit to look into the candlelight of the advent wreath to meditate and think about his relationship with God. After some thinking, he finally knew what to do to make him forgive his sins, and maybe, after make him happy – to write a Mass for Christmas, and teach Christie Daaé to sing it on Christmas Eve – but he has to be in hurry- he is running out of candles!

It is already the second one he had to light that day- only two candles left till Christmas… two weeks.

Two weeks to both write and teach a Mass… it will be hard, but not impossible. This will be a great way to show his faith and willingness to turn to God – he is going to show him that he can work with his blood and sweat for two weeks- without, or with the least possible sleeping.

He was sitting at his organ, trying to search for the most accurate keys to write the Mass in, and prepared red ink and a totally empty pile of sheet music paper in front of him. He thought about Christine, her beautiful clear blue eyes, her golden hair and… her beautiful, angel – like features. As he closed his eyes, he saw Christine as an angel, playing on a harp, singing a beautiful and sweet melody, jumping from cloud to cloud in Heaven. He smiled with his malformed lips and gave his soul completely into the vision. When he opened his eyes again, he felt completely relaxed, peaceful and inspired – not even being mad at himself for falling asleep. As he looked at his pocket watch, he realized that he only slept for 20 minutes, but it was way more relaxing than the usual 4-5 hours of sleep in every 2-3 days, he usually was able to go through. With a final deep breath, he dipped his pen in the red ink, and started writing.

Faith is returning to everyone and the second candle is already lit.


	3. Chandelle Troisiéme: Amour

Chandelle Troisiéme: Amour

The third candle came faster than he would think, as the last week passed so fast, in a living dream, half- consciousness, either bending over his desk or sitting at the organ, or giving music lessons to his beloved Christine. By the time he had to light the third candle on the wreath, he was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open, and the Mass was only halfway done.

Erik was a slow composer. Not because he didn't have musical ideas, not at all. He had too many of them, to tell the truth. Melodies were constantly racing in his head, he often caught himself softly humming something under his breath, or tapping a rhythm with his feet against the floor. The problem was he only wanted to write down the best one he could manage to create, and this was the hardest thing in his life. It drove him literally crazy, struggling for the ONE best melody. When he finally scribbled something down, hours or days later he suddenly came up with an idea way better than the one he already had, so he threw a tantrum about it. He was walking up and down in his house like a madman, he was fuming and jumping up and down in frustration. His own mind tricked him and he loathed this feeling more than he hated any other thing in the world. Knowing that he only had a week left to finish the Mass, he was way crazier than usual. The stress was slowly building up in him again. He cannot stay peaceful, no matter how he wanted to. He is just made this way- a barrel of gunpowder.

"I have to finish it! Until that I have to finish it!"

He yelled at the top of his lungs and kicked a chair near him. But at the very same moment he felt so tired… so very tired… he just… nearly fell asleep. No, he had to concentrate. If he stays here in the basement, without fresh air he will fall asleep in no time, and that is the least he needed at that time. He needed his brain more than anything. He decided to take a stroll on the streets. It wasn't a thing he did with pleasure, but it was a badly needed walk if he wanted to continue, and he was running out of time.

As he adjusted his false nose and his moustache to be sure it covers his malformed, nearly non-existent lips, and he put on his hat that he pulled right into his eyes, and he adjusted the collar of his coat to cover his face from the sides, he dared to walk out in broad daylight. He was walking on the snowy avenue of Champs Elysées, and would sometimes rest his sore back against a tree and yawn. Cold and fresh air made him some good, he was no longer that much sleepy, but a level of tiredness still bothered him.

As he closed his eyes for a moment while walking, he suddenly felt a hit against his bony shoulder. As he turned to the side to watch what it was, his gaze met a bunch of children, laughing at him.

\- Here comes the Grim Reaper! – They laughed cheerfully and teasingly.

Erik shrugged without a word and wanted to walk away, he did not have any urge to talk or threaten them that day.

\- Niah – niah – niah, ugly old undertaker! – They kept running after him and he felt another hit, this time, his already aching back got a piece of frozen snow. He did not want to react. He was hoping that the little monsters will finally get tired of their show and leave him alone eventually if he doesn't give them a reason to laugh about.

\- Un-der-ta-ker, un-der-ta-ker, un-der-ta-ker! – The small monkeys kept chanting, and he noticed there was more and more of them as he walked.

He decided it was rather more than enough of the fresh air and strolling outside so he wanted to change the direction and go back to the Opera. The little snots did not want to leave him alone, though, and as he was trying to ignore and avoid the snow and ice- balls that were thrown at him, he did not realize a frozen puddle in front of his legs.

He stepped on the ice and the next moment his leg slipped and he, rather gracelessly fell on his rear and back with a loud thud. The children burst out in wild laughter, pointing at him, and calling him by various names. Some of them started chanting:

 _"_ _On Christmas night is Midnight Mass,_

 _The Grim – Reaper fell on his ass!"_

More and more sons of a – b- got into the choir of the nasty little poem, the rest of them still were laughing. He did not yell, he did not threaten them or throw things at them either. He was used to this happening. He sighed and tried to get back into standing position, but he got another snowballs hitting his side which made him lose his balance again. As he landed again, he heard the voices of the little snots – but the voice of an Angel as well.

\- Stop this! – The angelic woman voice ordered. – Aren't you ashamed of yourselves, children? – She added angrily.

The kids put the last snowballs off, then slowly walked away.

\- Instead of making fun of the Monsieur, you should have helped him! – She scolded the passing youngsters, then headed to Erik and leaned closer to him. – Monsieur… are you all right…?

What should he say to this? An angel, a beautiful Swedish angel just CARED for his well – being and… he could not, and did not even want to say anything. Partly because he was afraid Christine Daaé might recognize his voice from the music lessons, and there would come the shattered illusion of the Angel of Music… but … he did not even know how to answer a question like this. It was the first time ever that someone noticed his suffering and asked if he was all right or not. If he totally wanted to be honest, he should have answered with no, as his back and bottom were really bothering him, and he got nasty hits from the icy snowballs on his side as well, but he knew people usually don't honestly state their physical conditions to such a question, and will rather lie they are feeling wonderful. He did not want to say that though, it was too big of a lie, and the girl should know the answer. He just nodded and softly stated:

\- Quite… thank you.

He thought this answer will suffice and she did not hear him speak for that much for him to be recognizable by the voice.

The girl looked at him, trying to observe his face. She could have sworn she had seen him before, at the Opera House. But she did not have too much opportunity to look at him any longer than a few seconds as he turned his head away and tried to get on his feet again.

\- May I help you, Monsieur? Do you need help?

Erik was astonished again. She offered him help. All by herself. He always knew, from the beginning that this girl is unique and has a heart of gold. But he did not dare to think she would ask him, the hideous monster, the oddity if he needed any help. He tried his best to manage to stand up alone, but he suddenly felt the wonderful girl supporting him from behind. It was a totally unknown feeling to him, someone touching his back without wanting to harm him, and he wished his back wasn't that sore at that moment so that he could enjoy it without bitterness. She walked him past the puddle and as he felt dry pavement under his boots again, he got way calmer. Even though he would have given his whole life for the hug of this angelic creature and stay by her side for an eternity, it was Erik who pulled away from Christine.

\- Thank you. – He mumbled softly.

\- Are you sure you don't need me to… accompany you? Or don't you need a doctor?

\- No, thank you. – He shook his head and slowly staggered away with pain in his body, but not in his heart, this time.

How wonderful it was to feel the love and compassion of someone who was secretly in his heart for months! She didn't ignore him, did not make fun of him, she did not laugh, even though he knew he was sure a pitiful, laughable and a bit frightening sight. She even scolded those kids and defended him against the crowd of the little troublemakers. How sweet, sweet girl Christine Daaé is… and she was kind to him. The Grim Reaper.

Maybe is this a sign of God's acceptance to him, paying off his effort to write a Mass for his Son's Birthday? Maybe he will show poor unhappy Erik some compassion finally, and he might… MIGHT live like anyone else? Might be that Christine Daaé isn't that an unreachable thing? Might be she could… love him back?

Well, he was really trying hard in these weeks, so he would deserve at least a crumble of love. He fought back his usual disgust for Christmas. He did not even throw things off any more. He lit the candles in order. He was composing day by night on the Mass and had so little sleep…

Yes… sleep... again the sleep came to his mind, and yet, it was the thing he wanted to avoid the most. He was tired and sore from the fall. He was walking with a drag, and massaged his side from time to time. He had no idea how should he sit at the organ that day… maybe now he should just use the desk…?

No… he shook his head. He was not any more in the shape of being up and composing. The physical and emotional jolts wore poor old Erik out even more than composing itself. He did not want anything more than a warm bath and a long sleep.

As he took a nice bath in calming warm water with bathing oils added, he got more and more relaxed and all the stress caused by the kids faded away, and the pain started to numb as well. Only the memory of Christine's beautiful and worried face was floating in front of his eyes, he saw it so close that he could have touched it. With a smile he remembered back the tone of her beautiful soprano voice and it rang in his ears like an enchanting and sweet melody. His heart was beating faster, and a strange kind of warmth he felt in all his body.

It was like resurrection itself.

He just felt what love is like – and felt he just grew a heart in his chest.


	4. Chandelle Quatriéme: Espére

Chandelle Quatriéme: Espére

The last week. He hated this last week of the most of all the advent season as it was crowded, noisy, and too cheerful to be true. Everyone was happy, waiting for a holiday with no real meaning at all. Everyone but him had someone who waited for them in a nice, ordinary apartment.

He saw a normal house in his dreams, with real windows and doors, with a beautiful wife in it who waits him to return from work in the evening, with a nice dinner. As he thought more and more of this enchanting scene, the beautiful wife looked more and more like Christine Daaé. He loved to imagine things like these, turning sentimental all over it. In those days the house got pretty Christmas decorations as well in his daydreams, and it made his soul filled with warmth and peace.

He looked around in his house and it seemed to be so dark and empty. He had nice furniture and lots of pictures on the walls, but dark colors dominated all over the house and only now he felt it was too sad a place, like a crypt, five levels underground. Maybe the decorations would do some good? He returned to the box of "nasty Xmas rubbish" and he outlined the scribbling on it, and relabeled it as "Xmas ornaments". It felt better like this. He carried it out in the salon again and started placing garlands, and small ornaments in the rooms. It took him a while but when he looked around, he was satisfied with the result. He even placed a praying angel figure candleholder on the mantelpiece of the Louis-Philippe room. Then he changed his mind, picked the thing up and carried it into his own room that still remained without Christmas mood. He thought it was very laughable to decorate a room in Christmas pomp that contained a coffin as a bed. But this one candleholder could do no harm. He put it on his desk and lit a candle in it, and as the candlelight mysteriously fall on it, which was such a nice sight. Is this what people actually feel on Christmas? Tears were formind in his eyes- oh no, no, no… Erik isn't crying. He just maybe has some eye infection. Or just tiredness.

Anyway, the house sure did look better, but the Christmas Mass was still not finished. But something else was still missing from the house and he still had unused decorations and he knew why it was… but NO way Erik will carry a tree in his home. It is too much to ask of a man who hates Christmas. It is enough that the other decorations got out of the box after 40 years or so. It was his mother who used them for the last time and… and there are tree ornaments his mother made of hay when she was yet a small girl and he actually found them beautiful when he was a boy… he could just… take a look at them… after so long time. But he should finish that damned… oh God forgive me – Mass.

Tomorrow… tomorrow he will buy a tree. Oh, Goodness…

The Doctor rose from the bed of Mama Valerius and he was in a better mood than usual, eve gave a smile as he examined the old lady's features.

\- How is she doing, Doctor? – Christine asked worriedly.

\- She is doing much better than usual. – The old doctor nodded with pleasure.

\- Is that true? – Christine did not want to believe her ears.

\- Yes, she is in a much better form, she has to be careful, but I think, she is in a good way to get well soon.

\- Oh! – A relieved sigh left her chest as she wiped her forehead with her handkerchief.

\- Maybe I can allow her to spend Christmas out of her bed. – He added- But I have to decide it only tomorrow at my next visit.

As the doctor left, Christine felt so relieved that she could have danced through the apartment – and she eventually did, causing Mama Valerius to laugh at her.

\- Oh, my child, you are such a sweet little girl.

\- Mama! Mama, you are going to be well again, in no time! I am so happy!

\- So am I, my dear child, but please don't be so happy in advance… I am an old woman and you should be prepared I won't be here always…

\- Mama, it is not something you should think of, especially not now. It is a miracle you feel better, oh Mama, it is a miracle.

\- It really must be. – She scratched her head. – Maybe it is the Angel's gift?

\- The Angel! – Christine gasped in sudden realization. – Do you think the Angel of Music can help you feel better?

\- Of course, my girl, all of God's Angels can work miracles!

\- Then… maybe it is the Angel's gift for Christmas! Of course! How could I forget about it? I shall repay the Angel with something for the miracle! But what do you give as a gift for an angel, Mama?

\- What- what, you silly girl. – The old woman laughed out. – Your soul!

\- Oh! I did not even think of that! – Christine clapped her hands together in excitement.- But my soul is mostly made of music and I know that the Angel of Music is made of music as well, from head to foot. Or, well, I know the angels have no bodies… but… you know what I mean. I will give music to the Angel to thank for the great things I got…

\- Oh, this is a very good idea, my dear! I think, both God and the Angel will be happy about it and you have such a beautiful and clear soul.

Christine smiled and with the great excitement, growing hope and happiness in her heart, she was searching for songs through her mind that would be suitable for a gift, while she was helping Mama Valerius with everyday life.

The next morning found Erik on the streets, earlier than his usual time of going out would come. He wanted to pick out a tree for his lake house. Not too big one as its leaves will fall on the very expensive carpet of his in the salon and he would hate the thought. Just a small one, just big enough to contain the ornaments he has. They are not too much, anyway. But as he was looking around, he sensed the presence of someone familiar near him. He turned around and instantly saw the man. The old booby wanted to hide from him, as he noticed that Erik saw him, but the Opera Ghost couldn't be tricked.

\- Hello, Daroga. – He walked close to the Persian who became so occupied by examining a small tree nearby. – You may stop the play, Daroga, you don't even celebrate Christmas. – He knocked the Persian's shoulder with his bony, ungloved finger.

\- Neither do you, as I remember, Ebeneezer Scrooge. – The Persian retorted.

\- Well, this year Erik might do an exception, and try it out. – He shrugged.

\- Why?

\- It is none of your business.

\- You act on a strange way lately and I just want to make sure you are all right.

\- Or if I am not into something illegal. – He corrected the old policeman.

\- Well, you know me too much and can see through me. – The Daroga admitted. – I don't know how you do it.

\- Erik can see through everyone. He knows people too well. I would suggest you to leave him alone to celebrate his first Christmas in peace. I have much things to do yet.

\- For example?

\- Picking out and setting up this tree and finally finish my Christmas Mass.

\- And the gifts?

\- What gifts?

\- You know, you give gifts to each other on Christmas, or am I wrong?

\- Oh! Erik's stupid head! He swears he thought of it earlier but this Mass is killing him… you know, Erik never understood why people need a month to prepare for a simple one day holiday… but now he starts to understand… he is running out of all the candles…

\- You have electrical lights in the Opera, don't you? Why do you need candles?

\- Not candles like that! Candles on the wreath, you great booby!

\- Did you even make a wreath? You really celebrate…

\- I do. I have a good reason to do so. I think… Daroga, that I am turning to the better.

\- If you turned out to be a total sweetheart, my old Erik, may I ask what I get from you? – The Persian teased as he did believe Erik is really preparing for Christmas this time, and he isn't up to anything bad… yet.

\- You, you Persian cop, will get the exact same thing from Erik you got last year – nothing!

\- Oh, it is fine with me. – he laughed. –At least I can figure out easily where to place it.

\- Well, if I sufficed your inquisitiveness for now, will you leave me pick out my tree, Daroga?

\- But of course, Erik… and… Merry Christmas!

\- Uh… oh… - He blushed, not knowing what to say in his embarrassment. – To… you too.

He felt uncomfortable as the Daroga left, mainly because he knew the Daroga doesn't celebrate Christmas, and it was foolish to wish it for him in return, but he was so kind to him… It was among one of the special rare moments of their friendship. And he decided both Christine, and the Daroga deserve something as a gift… but WHAT….?

It should be suitable for the occasion, should be personal, and not something one – of a dozen gift! But what he, the monster could give to a beautiful and talented angel, and his best friend?

Maybe he could hope to have a normal Christmas… a normal life…?


	5. Chant de Noel: Joyeux Noel!

Chant de Noel: Joyeux Noel!

It was the 24th December, 1880.

The next day it will be Christmas Day. Christine was so excited and she could just hope the Angel of Music will show up at night so that she will be able to sing her most heartfelt gift in return of the great miracles and tutoring her for so much time.

They did not talk about the holidays, and the schedule of lessons in the season, so Christine was a bit of confused. An angel does not care about so earthly traditions such as Christmas dinner or gifts, as they sure have everything they could need in Heaven, but maybe the angels attend Midnight Mass also? The Angel did not say anything specific regarding that. She should have asked, but she was a bit of uncomfortable about nagging the angel about her everyday issues and earthly thoughts – she tends to do it too much anyway.

Christine decided to be at Midnight Mass anyway – because maybe she will finally see, but at least, hear the Angel of Music again, it would be such a nice gift for her soul.

She wore her most elegant dress, a Swedish folklore outfit, because that went well with the song she chose. It was suitable as a church – wear in Sweden, but it was a bit different than French people wore for Church – so she was a bit of an outsider. She was getting used to it, though. She thought so differently than others and she was too shy and serious for the other girls in choir and the ballet, so she did not really find anyone there to talk to. Only the angel was her companion besides Mama Valerius.

Mama, sadly, did not join her to attend Mass. It would have been the best solution, but the old lady was feeling a bit of weak, so she decided, she will go alone.

XXX

He felt uncomfortable setting his feet in a church. It was such a long time he visited one… and when he did, it was mostly because of only his interest in architecture or church organs. And this crowd around him wasn't helping either. He was wondering why on Earth he even came at all. This was an absolutely stupid thought. People around him were staring at his skull features. He can wear any type of false nose, but people still keep staring. He sat down in a bench the furthest from the most of people, but nearest to the door- that way he could easily sneak out anytime and forget about his absolutely idiotic ideas and sentimental clinging to this world that always keeps out casting him.

He went to church because he felt like this he will get the closest to God he can, and to hear a Mass. He carried his own Mass with him as well, it was under his cloak in a folder made of leather. He wanted to play it on the church organ after everyone left the place, he wanted to play it out loud once, before he could show it to Christine. And what a better place for it than church?

He felt exhausted. Only he realized when he sat down how very exhausted he was. He was working on the Mass for weeks, with the least possible sleep and he decorated his Christmas tree the whole day – each damned ornament was placed with so much thinking, to tell the truth, overthinking that it took a damn lot of time. And all that cleaning, cooking, baking… he made a complete Christmas menu. Even a Buche de Noel. For whom, you may most likely, and logically ask. There is no answer. Erik could not answer that either. He only knew that it was right this way, as in his childhood, the play contained the menu as well, whether he ate a bite of it or not, it used to be there on the table, and that was how it should be. It was normal like that. He knew that Christmas dinner shall be eaten after the Midnight Mass and he did everything just like he learned in his childhood.

Even though the fresh air was cold and the church was freezing as well, and that should have kept him awake, he caught himself nodding off from time to time- small bits of the Mass just fell out for him. He forced himself awake and tried to stop yawning, but he couldn't.

XXX

Christine remained seated after Mass while others left the church. Even the priest and everyone else left, when she finally dared to stand up. She warmed herself up for some time before she would move, it was so cold in there that she could not feel her arms and legs. When she felt more comfortable, she looked around if she was really alone or not. At first, it looked like everyone left, but she heard strange noises indicating the presence of someone or something. It was like a cat's purring, or some other animal's noisemaking, but she knew well there were no cats in church. The sound was rhythmical, and constant… like… like… snoring.

Someone stayed here because they fell asleep? She can't sing until this person is still there. It must be a man. A woman does not make such noise while sleeping. Where is he?

She took a few steps to the direction where she heard the noise, but the acoustic of the church threw the snoring literally everywhere, so her ears were deceiving her. But she suddenly spotted a figure in a dark corner, in the farthest seat possible. He was laying against the bench and sleeping. She walked close to him to wake him up.

\- Monsieur… - She started, at first as if she was a mother, trying to wake her oversleeping child up.

No answer, the man was sleeping as a dead body. Only his snoring gave away he was still alive.

\- Monsieur… - Christine talked a bit louder.

Still not the slightest of reaction came from the extremely thin guy. Even though he wore a coat, she could still count the man's ribs especially that he was bending to the bench. Christine felt a bit uncomfortable touching him, she could not have told the reason why. But she had to if she wanted him to wake up and leave so she will be able to sing in peace for her angel.

\- Monsieur, please wake up, the Mass is over.

She placed a hand on the bony shoulder. She had to shake him several times when he suddenly just tossed her hand away from him, startled up and without a single word, he just ran out of the door so quickly that she could not even tell if he was real or not. If she hadn't touched him, she would have sworn he was just a phantom of the night.

She wanted to sit down on the place the figure occupied to regain her sanity, but as she reached the bench, her boots hit against something and she kicked it away a few inches. Alarmed and curious of what she might have kicked, she leaned close to examine the thing. It was a folder, and the edge of a piece of sheet music could be seen. Music…? She couldn't help her curious nature and lifted up the folder, undoing the ribbon that closed it. She opened the folder and looked at the music. It was nothing like she knew before. It was a beautiful Christmas Mass, written in a childish cursive. The music itself was nothing similar she had seen earlier, it was bittersweet, full of surprising musical methods, questionable tonality, and sorrow and hope at the same time. She gasped at the mere sight of the notes, and she suddenly realized her Swedish Christmas song was absolutely nothing compared to this musical miracle. She was frantically searching for the name of the composer on the first page, but she could not see anything more than "Erik". Erik who? She did not even know anyone by that name.

What if this mass was sent to her by God himself? Such a coincidence isn't a coincidence. She finds a sheet music of a beautiful Christmas Mass on the church floor on Christmas dawn… as if God was trying to send a message for her about singing.

 _"_ _Keep up your dreams and follow them, listen to the Angel of Music and you will find success."_

She knew well what she shall sing now – this Mass.

XXX

Erik ran as fast as he could after being startled up at church. Who would think he would fall asleep and who on Earth would think someone else was still there to wake him up? He was extremely humiliated, scared and still tired. He had to slow down after a few corners because his body felt heavier and heavier with every step. His back was in pain as he slept bending to the church bench and his head throbbed due to the fact he was woken up so suddenly. He leaned his back against a tree and closed his eyes for a second, when he realized something. The folder he carried under his cloak was missing. God in Heaven, did it fall out? Is it at the church or did he lose it somewhere else?

He was frantically searching every spot it could have slipped out, but he could see only snow. He was walking back slowly to the church, with aching back and feet and in a terrible mood, but as he got near the church, he forgot all his problems, as he heard a beautiful voice.

Christine Daaé!

She was singing his Christmas Mass in the church, all alone. She was standing by the window so moonlight can light up the sheet music she was holding. It wasn't the way he imagined it to be – it was in fact, way better in reality. No matter that the organ accompaniment was missing – it wasn't even necessary. Christine's pure angelic voice was enough to make him cry with happiness. He was silently listening to the beautiful girl and his heart was filled again with that strange warm and tickling sensation. Was it happiness? Was it love…?

Maybe it wasn't a coincidence he lost his mass right here, on Christmas dawn? Was it a coincidence that Christine visited Midnight Mass just at the very same church as he did? He would have hated himself for falling asleep any other time – but now, he was thankful for this small "misfortune". That is how God is repaying for his very tiring work for weeks? He thought that Christine helping him up when he fell on ice was a gift, but he had to admit, hearing his Christmas Mass on Christine's voice was a way more heartwarming gift. He sighed dreamily and watched her in awe.

He did not want to play this ridiculous "Angel of Music" game at that moment, so he wanted to slowly and peacefully walk away when she finished, but Christine's voice startled him.

\- Angel, here is my gift for you. I give it to you because you turned my life to the better and I would like to say thank you for it. And I know, in Heaven, every day must be a holiday – but Christine Daaé would like to wish you a Merry Christmas.

Erik got weak in the knees and although he knew that this confession was addressed for the "Angel of Music" it was, in fact his alter- ego, so he might take it on himself… he was working hard to tutor this girl, for months. Maybe it's time he should get his reward for it! No one gives free singing lessons and even the Coffin of Christ wasn't guarded for free. With God's and his talent's help, he can get want he wants and needs more than anything in his life- Christine!

So, even though he did not want it earlier, the play started again. He cleared his throat and threw his voice to sound like it was going from the very ceiling of the church and echo through the whole building, mysteriously and softly:

\- Dear Christine, I have written this Mass just for you and I was enormously pleased by how it sounded in your performance. This is the gift I am sending to you for celebrating the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ. And my gift, my dear child, was the possibility of hearing it on your voice – and the most beautiful gift I have ever received.

He could barely manage his voice to stay majestic through his speech, he wanted to cry of happiness and being touched. Christine sent a wide smile and whispered a soft "Thank you, Angel!" but as she could hear no more answer from the angelic creature, she decided she was going home – it was nearly three in the morning, and Mama Valerius is sure worrying about her.

She left the church, sending a smile behind, and happily she ran home. Erik secretly followed her on her path, because he did not want filthy drunken pigs pick on a girl who wanders alone on the streets so early. He wasn't tired any more, he was refreshed by the music and chilly weather. Thankfully Christine arrived home safe and sound, and Erik was walking back to the Opera is a surprisingly good mood.

On his way home, a filthy little beggar kid approached him. He couldn't decide if it was a boy or a girl, it wore ripped and dirty clothes, and it did not have shoes. It was forced or sent to beg even in this late, or early hour. The kid reached out its hand to him and said:

\- Merry Christmas, Monsieur…

Erik did not like to give money to these kids. He was once this abandoned as well, so he actually knew what they were going through, but no one on Earth gave him anything either… why should Erik bother with them…? But on that day, God showed compassion to Erik… so Erik will show compassion too.

\- Same to you. – He nodded and tossed a 10 francs bill to the small dirty hand.

\- Thank you, Monsieur…- the child gasped in surprise upon receiving so much money at once.

\- Tell your parents to buy you shoes. – He said while leaving.

He was whistling happily as he arrived home, and he saw the beautifully decorated Christmas tree. He was standing in front of it for a time and he was silently praying in his mind, then went to the dining room to have dinner. Though he was all alone, he was happy. Happy because of the hope that was in his heart, and he thought he could be kind to ANYONE right now, even to his enemies. Peace and love filled his soul that dawn and he was waiting for the coming New Year with great expectations.

XXX

When the Persian got up on Christmas Morning, he was surprised to hear the news that Darius found a very interesting small package in front of the door. It did not list a sender, so the Daroga opened it carefully. There was a beautifully binded small notebook with a very expensive faountain pen and a small note included:

"Daroga,

As a cop you always need a notebook to list your silly thoughts and world- saving ideas. Your friend shall supply you with the items needed for that for next year. You're welcome.

Joyeux Noel,

Erik"

The Persian shook his head and laughed.

XXX

When Erik walked up in Box 5 in the afternoon to see what was going on in his Opera House, he noticed a box placed in the chair next to the column, which was his place. He was very surprised of what on Earth that may be. He lifted it up and saw the addressing for "Opera Ghost".

It was something for him! He curiously sat down and lifted the lid of the box, to find an Edgar Allan Poe - book and a box of liquor- filled, chocolate covered sugar bon – bons, which was the only sweet he liked at all. It was sent by someone who knew this about him, and that person could only be… the Daroga… he didn't expect to get back the favor with a Christmas gift. That was actually the first personal Christmas gift he ever received from someone. He also found a small paper that contained a short note which, to his surprise, touched his heart so much that he could only sit there for a while, crying:

"Erik,

With this small gift, the Persian cop, your friend is wishing you

JOYEUX NOEL!"

THE END


End file.
